


Each Word Made True And Good

by thelittlestbird



Category: Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestbird/pseuds/thelittlestbird
Summary: Josie Brooke plays Horatio in a student production of Hamlet, and learns about patience, friendship, and love.





	Each Word Made True And Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganmuffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganmuffle/gifts).



“We’re doing _Hamlet_?” Josie Brooke’s voice rose high with astonishment – and not a little indignation – as she looked at the notice for the The Thalian Society of Oakley College for Women.

“I suppose so,” her classmate Ida replied with more equanimity, peering around Josie’s tall willowy form. “Lots of good roles in that. There should be something for everyone.”

“I thought you would be happy, Josie,” offered Grace, another first-year student. Small, dark, and plump, she had to step fully in front of Josie to see anything at all. “Haven’t you been dreaming of playing Ophelia since you could read?”

Josie dismissed that thought with an airy wave. “Yes, but I’m moving on,” she said, with the lofty superiority of seventeen. “Miss Cameron said that my Ophelia might be good someday.” The sting of that ‘someday’ was still with her, for it meant that she was not that good yet; but she moved on quickly. “But she said that I should concentrate on comedy for a time instead. I’ve been working on Beatrice, and she’s _marvelous_!” She raised a clenched fist, declaiming passionately, “I would eat his heart in the marketplace!” Then she dropped out of Beatrice’s voice and into her own, turning eagerly to Ida as she continued, “Playing someone who would say a line like that? How glorious that would be!”

Grace laughed. “Do you know, I believe that you would eat someone’s heart! Only given enough provocation, of course.” 

“I think Hamlet will be interesting,” Clara Preston confided softly. They all turned as one to look: except when she was reading lines onstage, she spoke so rarely that if she said anything at all, it must matter to her a great deal. “It will be valuable to us, too,” she continued, her hazel eyes lowering to the ground under the weight of the other girls’ gazes. “We should know all of Shakespeare, and Hamlet is one of the most important plays. Even if we won’t be performing for anyone but each other, we should know it well.”

That “even if” stung Josie, too. She had joined the Thalian Society with full knowledge that most of their work would never see a public performance: they learned scenes and even full plays as training exercises only. But she knew that she needed the practice – and that she needed to focus inward rather than outward, on knowing the words and understanding the character rather than hearing the applause and laughter from an audience. 

“We should organize some readings,” Grace suggested, to no one’s surprise. She was always organizing some sort of activity for the other girls. “So that we can prepare for auditions. My room, eight o’clock? I’ve got cake.” That was no surprise either; Grace’s wealthy family meant that she could always afford to treat everyone.

As the others fell to chattering eagerly amongst themselves, Clara came up quietly next to Josie. “What role are you hoping to get?” she asked softly. 

“Perhaps Laertes.” Josie’s smile started to come back at that thought. “He’d be rather fun to play, wouldn’t he? Duels, schemes, revenge!”

Clara smiled back. “You’d play that well,” she said with gentle sincerity. “I’m sure you’d be marvelous with a sword.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to try Ophelia,” Clara confessed, darting a glance up at Josie. “But if someone else wants it then I shouldn’t want to stand in her way. It’s all up to Frances, anyway,” Clara added quickly, her eyes gaze slipping deferentially down as she invoked the name of the senior girl who led the Thalian Society. 

Josie studied Clara for a moment. “I think you would be a good Ophelia,” she said, more slowly and thoughtfully than she usually spoke. Something about Clara brought out Josie’s serious side. She often came away from their conversations surprised at how much of her inner self she had shared with Clara – and even more surprised at how natural it felt to do so. “You sing beautifully, and you could show how kind she is, as well.”

Clara’s face lit up in a smile, even as she ducked her head shyly away from the compliment. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“You _would_ ,” Josie declared, even firmer than before. “Now come – let’s study for the auditions.”

* * *  
Three days after auditions, Josie skittered to a halt in front of the Thalian Society’s meeting room, breathless in her rush to see the list of roles. 

She had given what she had thought was a magnificent reading for Laertes, full of fire and passion. She had even been practicing fencing moves in her dormitory, when her roommate was out, so that she would be ready for the dueling scenes.

She quickly scanned the list, eyes drawn straight to the line beginning with “Laertes”…and did not see her name. Ida was Laertes. Ida, always the follower, was playing hotheaded Laertes?

Could Josie have been cast as Ophelia instead? Up she scanned – and, no, Grace was playing Ophelia. How could Grace be Ophelia? Josie had heard Grace audition, and thought that she would have been a marvelous Claudius or Gertrude, all majesty and authority – or even Hamlet himself, able to command the stage through all those soliloquies, for all that she was half a head shorter than Josie. Grace, flitting about with flower petals or losing herself with grief? It made no sense! But, there it was. And awkward Laura was Claudius, and giggly frivolous Minnie was Gertrude. 

And where was Josie?

With the clack of footsteps and murmur of voices rising around her as the rest of the Thalian Society caught up to her, Josie shifted her gaze to the other side of the paper, looking with increasing confusion for her own name. 

And there it was, near the top: _Horatio: Josephine Brooke._

Right next to _Hamlet: Clara Preston._

“I don’t understand!” Ida fretted. 

Minnie was giggling: perhaps it was a joke?

“This can’t be right,” Grace declared. “Everyone is playing exactly the opposite of what she’s supposed to be!”

“Ah. I see you’ve figured it out, then,” Frances’s dry voice broke in behind them. In a flash, they all fell silent and whirled around. There she was, cool and calm, with a faint smile of satisfaction on her face. “Yes, you are all playing roles contrary to expectation. Since this production is merely an exercise for ourselves, rather than for performance, we shall take the opportunity to expand our ranges.”

Clara was pale and trembling. Josie stepped swiftly in front of her, shielding her from Frances’s sardonic gaze, and she felt Clara’s tension ease the instant that she did.

Minnie laughed. “I’ll try it!”

Ida frowned, but did not protest; Grace stepped up to Frances, ready to argue. 

Josie started mustering her own protests: they would never actually play most of these roles, so why even spend the time to learn them? Why not let everyone focus on their strengths?

Just as she was about to join the others, turning towards Frances and away from the cast list, Josie felt the small clasp of Clara’s hand around hers. “What am I to do?” Clara whispered, staring up at Josie with wide eyes in a pale face. “How can I be _Hamlet_?”

Josie felt a pang of guilt: she had been so wrapped up in her own unhappiness that she had not thought of how Clara must feel. Josie was disappointed, but poor Clara was terrified. Josie swallowed her own feelings down. “You’re good enough,” she declared. “You are, truly.” Then she looked Clara straight in the eye as she promised, “I’ll be right there next to you.”

“I hope you will be,” Frances broke in, and there was a smirk on her face when Josie looked up at her. “You were late three times last week, Josephine. So you had better be there.”

Another little verbal dart flung at her; another wince from Josie as it hit home. “Yes,” she said, and turned away.

* * *

At the next meeting of the Thalian Society, Josie was there, just as she had promised: exactly on time, and a few minutes early, even, because she wanted to be there when Clara arrived. She felt gratified – and yet a bit defensive, as well – at the look of surprise on Frances’s face when she walked in to find Josie already in the room. Was it really that shocking that Josie would be on time, or keep a promise?

It was worth every bit of Frances’s skepticism, though, to see Clara’s smile of relief.

“Act One, Scene One,” Frances announced. “Let us begin.”

The girls playing the guards stepped out onto the square of carpet that served as their stage, and began. Josie waited to one side, fairly bouncing on her toes with suppressed energy. It might not be the part that she had wanted, but it was still acting, and it was still Shakespeare, and it was going to be glorious.

Best of all, though, was the first laugh.

“What, is Horatio there?” asked the girl reading Bernardo, awkwardly stalwart as she tried to portray a guard, squinting as if through the dark Danish fog.

Josie shivered and replied wryly, “A piece of him.” 

And the laughter came from all around the room, bright and reassuring, and it carried Josie forward.

She trembled dramatically at the appearance of the ghost; tore into Horatio’s first long speeches with enthusiasm – the story of Fortinbras’s wars, and the description of the gruesome omens from history. She saw Frances wince at some of her wilder hand gestures, but Frances did not interrupt, and so Josie kept going.

When she hurried back to her seat at the end of the first scene, she was certain that she was going to be able to find something worthwhile in Horatio.

She was still buoyed up by that feeling when she strode onstage for her next entrance: this time, for her first scene with Hamlet. Clara had been a bit hesitant in her first soliloquy, but as soon as Josie and the others joined her onstage, she found her momentum again.

“My father,” Clara fairly whispered, her eyes brimming with bitter pain. “Methinks I see my father.”

Josie reared back, head whipping about in a broad double-take. “O, where, my lord?” It was so unexpected, and her timing so perfect, that everyone else collapsed into helpless giggles. 

Except for Frances, of course, who rose in a storm of anger. “What was that?” she cried. “This is not some music-hall comedy, Josephine, for you to roll your eyes and pull faces!”

Josie dropped instantly out of character. “No!” she protested, her eyes clear and wide. “It’s only that he’s just seen the king!” She looked helplessly towards Clara as she struggled to explain. “And he thinks that Hamlet might have seen him too.”

“It’s not funny,” Clara offered, softly and unexpectedly. “It’s sad. Hamlet wishes so badly that he could see his father again. He doesn’t know that Horatio has already seen him.”

“Yes!” Josie nodded. “That’s it exactly!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clara’s face light with a soft smile, and she flashed one of her own back, pleased that they understood each other. 

Frances looked from Clara to Josie and back again, weighing their words for a long moment. “All right,” she finally said. “You may continue to do that. Just give less, Josephine. Begin again from ‘my father’.”

Josie and Clara took a step back, resuming their places. Clara’s expression sank instantly back into the deep melancholy of Hamlet’s bereavement. Josie realized once again how beautifully subtle Clara’s acting was, and how much Clara came alive when she was onstage. 

The audience in the back row wouldn’t see half of the beauty of Clara’s performance. Only Josie would see it, and that made her lucky.

* * *

No matter how difficult the meetings of the Thalian Society were, Josie felt reassured every time there was a laugh.

Laughter meant that the audience was listening; that they were present; that they were on her side. She remembered all of the tableaus at Christmas and the plays at Plumfield. She could quirk her eyebrow or tilt her head just so, and the laughter would rise up, and it would mean that her family was close by.

Her family felt very far away right now, even farther away than the laughter. 

They had been working their way through Act IV, and there was hardly anything for Josie to do. She’d actually been allowed to laugh in Act III – bantering with Hamlet and the players – and yet she found that it had been difficult for her to muster. Horatio had spent so much time being worried about Hamlet that even the jests, chiding Hamlet that “You might have rhymed” came out sounding uncomfortable, as if she were trying too hard to find humor.

To her surprise, the strain in Josie’s voice drew an approving murmur from Frances: it must have rung true.

But now, they were doing Ophelia’s flower-strewing scene, and everything felt all wrong, and Josie couldn’t figure out why. 

It wasn’t Grace’s fault; Grace was doing well. She was doing _very_ well as Ophelia, in fact – the strength that Grace had given Ophelia in the earlier scenes made her collapse seem even more shocking and tragic. 

Late at night, alone with her thoughts, Josie might have conceded that she actually was a little jealous at seeing someone else play the part that she had dreamed of for so long. But that wasn’t why she just couldn’t find a way to make the flower-strewing scene work.

What was there for her to do in that scene, after all? Horatio had one line, right at the beginning, and the rest was simply watching. Frances had told her that watching was as much a part of acting as speaking, and Josie was doing her best to remember that. And Miss Cameron had said that acting was not about feeling, but about showing: it did not matter what Josie felt; only what she showed to the audience that Horatio was feeling and doing. She had learned all of those lessons, and she was doing her best to take them all to heart. And yet – she still could not show what Horatio was feeling if she did not understand him.

She tried following Ophelia around, as if to guard her, but Frances told her to stop. “The focus should be on Ophelia,” Frances admonished, “and only Ophelia.” She tried drawing back in fear when Ophelia approached, but that made Minnie (who until then had actually been finding some serious depth in her role of Gertrude) break down into helpless giggles, and Frances made her stop that as well.

She tried being angry; she tried being bored; she tried being dismissive. Nothing worked, for nothing felt natural. 

When Josie went back to her room that evening, she tried to find some variety or excitement by rehearsing her lines for later scenes, but that was no better: even in the gravediggers’ scene, Hamlet had all the wordplay, and Horatio had endless variations on “yes, my lord.”

She poured it all out to Clara the next afternoon as they sat together under the shade of a maple tree. They had been coming to that tree more and more over the last few weeks: first to practice their lines, and then lingering to study together, and then to talk quietly when the studying was through.

“How can he not do anything?” Josie cried. “How can he just stand there? His dearest friend is in terrible distress, and he doesn’t _do_ anything!”

“I’m sorry,” Clara sighed sympathetically. “It must be difficult for you to have to stand still for so long!” 

“I simply can’t understand why _he_ would! Why doesn’t he make Hamlet do something? Why doesn’t he step in?”

“He does, sometimes, doesn’t he?” Clara offered. “When people ask him to do things. They ask him to take care of Ophelia. That means they trust you. I mean, him,” she corrected herself quickly.

That made Josie pause. “They _are_ always asking Horatio to take care of people, aren’t they?” The words came slowly as she thought through each one. “I wonder if I could use that? That’s his way of taking care of Hamlet: standing back and watching, to make sure that Hamlet doesn’t hurt himself?”

“Exactly!” Clara’s smile rushed back in, full of relief at being understood. “And he agrees with Hamlet so that Hamlet won’t chase him away. Which is what he does to everyone else,” Clara added, with a hint of guilt for her character’s poor treatment of others.

Josie sighed. “I’ll try. Goodness knows I’ve tried everything else! But it’s a good idea,” she said, which drew another smile from Clara. “There! You’ve been a marvelous help, Clara. Now what shall I do for you in return?”

“Oh!” Clara hadn’t been expecting to hear that – she blinked in surprise, and had to think for a moment before she asked hesitantly, “May I practice ‘To be or not to be’? I’ve almost got it, I think, but it’s just so important that I want to speak it aloud a few more times.”

“Oh goodness, I’m sorry!” Josie gasped. “Here I am, going on and on about how I hate doing nothing, when you have the most intimidating soliloquies in all of Shakespeare. I’m sure you’d only be too happy to have some time when you’re on stage but not speaking!”

Clara shook her head, cheeks pinkening under the rush of Josie’s apology. “It’s all right. I’m glad that I could help you feel better.”

“You did,” Josie realized. “Help me, I mean.” Clara’s smile lit brighter, and Josie’s rose to answer it. “And I should do more to help you in return.”

“Oh no!” Clara protested, eyes going wide. “You already do help me, Josie. All the time!” The words burst out swiftly, so full of fervor that they startled even Clara herself, and she drew back, head ducking shyly down.

The praise brought a rush of warmth rising up in Josie. “You don’t need my help for acting. I’ve seen every one of your rehearsals for the soliloquies so far.” She had – even on the days when Josie wasn’t scheduled to appear in a scene herself, she had come to watch. “You were perfect! The way you measure out the words, the way you hold the stage…” Josie struggled to put into words how Clara had looked, standing alone at the center of the room, how magnetic her voice had been, how Josie’s gaze had been drawn to her whether Clara was alone or surrounded by the rest of the actors.”

“I can be confident when I’m being someone else,” Clara explained quietly. “Hamlet is the one who is speaking. He is the one who is being watched by everyone. Even when he is afraid – that’s _his_ fear, not mine. That, I can manage. It isn’t so easy to do that when I’m being myself. Except…when you’re there, I can,” she finished, looking up to meet Josie’s gaze once more. “When you’re there, I can be brave.” The dappled sun shone through the leaves across Clara’s face, making delicate shadows that shifted and danced like the shades of green and brown in her hazel eyes. 

“Go on, then.” Josie wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt so shy, or why her heart was pounding so fast. Or why she was changing the subject so quickly, when what she really wanted to do was to watch the way Clara’s eyes shone in the sunlight. “You wanted to do your soliloquy?”

Clara cleared her throat. “Er. Yes.”

Josie sat back and listened as Clara unfolded the beautiful centuries-old words, filling them with all of the uncertainty of a person who thought deeply, who wanted to be certain that when they took an action that it was the right one.

* * *

Josie had been dreading the final meeting of the Thalian Society and did not know why. 

It was not because she didn’t know her lines for the last scene of Hamlet – she did, and was word perfect! Nor because she dreaded facing Frances: she had been on time or early to so many rehearsals that Frances had stopped being surprised to see her there right at the beginning. 

But apprehension rose in her all the same as she walked into the room. 

The girls took their places for the final scene, and Josie stood back to watch – for it was Horatio’s place to watch, and witness, and not to act. Not now.

Clara as Hamlet was the one who took action, setting in motion a dozen fatal plans all at once. Her eyes shone with the thrill of it, even as each one drove her closer and closer to Hamlet’s death. She lunged eagerly into the swordplay, spitting out her words with terrifying fury. 

Once - only once - her eyes flicked up to catch Josie’s, and Josie saw the sparkle of Clara’s joy behind Hamlet’s desperation.

She was _magnificent_ , and Josie could watch her for hours.

And then she collapsed – and Josie realized why she had had such dread in her heart. Because today, she would have to watch Clara act as if she were dying.

Josie rushed forward to catch Clara, and lowered her ever so gently to the ground. “I am dead,” Clara whispered. 

What it if it were _Clara_ lying wounded, not Hamlet-being-played-by-Clara? What if Josie truly were about to lose Clara?

She did not think that she could bear it.

“Thou liv’st,” Clara persisted, speaking Hamlet’s words in a faint voice. “Report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.” There it was again: that trusting gaze from the stricken hazel eyes. Hamlet had perfect faith that his steadfast friend Horatio would do what he said he would.

Clara had perfect faith in Josie. 

Josie cradled Clara’s head – and dared to lift a gentle finger to stroke the fair hair back from her brow. “I am more an antique Roman than a Dane.” The words were a desperate, grand gesture – it was the sort of thing that Josie might say herself, and not be certain whether she believed it or not. There were tears rising in her eyes, and she was not sure whether they were Horatio’s or her own. 

Clara shook her head, with a wince of pain that looked so real that it made Josie’s heart ache anew. “If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, to tell my story.” 

Behind her tears, Josie felt a quiver of wonder. How could someone be dying, and yet spend their final breaths in concern for someone else’s pain? How noble must a person be, to be able to do that – and how deeply must that person care for the other?

As noble as Clara, Josie realized. As deeply as Clara cared for her – and as deeply as Josie cared for Clara.

That kind of feeling could only be love.

Josie twined her fingers through Clara’s as her tears began to fall, and as Clara’s eyes slipped shut. She did not want to let go, but she made herself – Horatio had to stand up, had to face Fortinbras. Had to tell the story, had to fulfill Hamlet’s dying wish. She felt the weight of that trust: the fate of the entire realm depended on the story that Horatio would tell.

Would Josie ever have such a heavy weight upon her? She prayed that she would not. But if she did someday, she might just be able to bear it, if she had someone like Clara by her side. 

She could feel the warmth of Clara’s hand long after she let go.

When the final words had been spoken, the Thalian Society sat in an awed hush. No applause, no cheers, barely even the sound of a breath broke the silence.

Josie reached down to take Clara’s hand, helping her up from where she had fallen. She felt the tug of Clara leaning on her, the closeness of Clara by her side. Hamlet would always have to leave Horatio at the end, but Clara was still here, still alive, warm and kind and brilliant and beautiful. 

They held onto each other through the rising thunder of the applause, and long after it ended, too. 

They were still holding hands when the other girls filtered out of the room, all absorbed in their own excited chatter about the final scene. Frances angled a glance back at them as she swept past, but said nothing, and just let Clara and Josie fall to the back of the group.

And then they were alone outside, and had somehow come to stand under the maple tree. The night was chilly but clear, and the moon shone nearly as brightly through the maple leaves as the sun had before.

Josie could hardly bear to break the silence, but neither could she stay quiet when her heart was so full. “You were magnificent,” she whispered.

“So were you,” Clara whispered back. Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, full of tears and joy and a hope that she dared not speak. “I could only do it because I knew you were there.”

“I will always be there,” Josie promised. The words tumbled out in a fervent rush. “I’ll be brave if you need me to be brave for you, and I’ll be strong if you need that too. And I’ll be quiet, too, because I know that sometimes you need quiet – it’s not easy for me,” she added with a shaky, giddy laugh, “but I’ll try! For you, I’ll try anything. You’re the best and brightest person I know, Clara, and I want to be here for you. If - if you’ll have me.”

“Yes!” Clara’s voice was still a whisper, but it rose high now as she clasped both of Josie’s hands in hers. “Yes, I will. I’ve wanted to say something for weeks, but I didn’t dare! I didn’t know if you felt the same way about me, and I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t. But – yes. Yes, I will have you.”

Josie kissed her, and the rest was silence.

**Author's Note:**

> \- When I saw both of your prompts – Josie continuing her acting career, and Horatio falling in love with Hamlet – I couldn’t resist trying to combine them. I have no idea if this is the kind of theater exercise that would take place at a women’s college in the 1880s/1890s; so, apologies to history if it isn’t!   
> \- I desperately wanted to talk about ‘typecasting’ and ‘playing against type,’ but apparently the earliest known usage of that word was 1937! https://www.etymonline.com/word/typecast  
> \- The title is from Hamlet; it’s one of Horatio’s lines: Act 1, scene 2, l. 419.


End file.
